


Handyman

by gh0stypeach



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1980s, Chores, Cooking Dinner, Dancing, F/M, Injury, Injury Recovery, Jim "Chief" Hopper Being Jim "Chief" Hopper, Slow Burn, Summer, You work at Hawkins Police Dept., kind of, making spaghetti, singing badly, single chapter slow burn, you guys are kinda dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gh0stypeach/pseuds/gh0stypeach
Summary: You broke your ankle while chasing someone and now you're stuck on desk duty. You complain about your grass needing mowed and the next day, Hopper shows up at your door.
Relationships: Jim "Chief" Hopper/Reader, Jim "Chief" Hopper/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Handyman

Being the only female deputy in Hawkins is one thing. Being on desk duty is a whole other story. Of course, you’re still mad at yourself, it was a stupid mistake. You and Powell were chasing a perp, you stepped in a hole you hadn't seen, and broke your ankle. Luckily you weren’t too far from the cruiser, so you’d hopped back to the car and waited, hoping Powell would catch him. He did and when he got back to your cruiser with him he seemed confused. You told him you rolled your ankle, it hadn’t felt that bad at the time. So you dropped the guy off at the station, then were encouraged by Powell and your other coworkers that you should “get that checked out”. Reluctantly, you were driven to the hospital where you ended up with surgery and a cast. That was last week. You couldn’t drive and most definitely couldn’t walk, so your neighbor drove you, dropped you off and picked you up at the station on her way to and from work, and you were stuck on desk duty. If you were forced to find one positive, not having to be in the summer heat is kind of nice. The rest though? It absolutely sucks.  
You hate having to sit at your desk all day, leg propped up on a chair Flo brought over for you from another room, doing paperwork and answering calls. But the worst is being unable to do chores at home.  
“I can’t even mow my grass! How pathetic is that!” you say, throwing your hand out to the side in exaggeration. “Cal, are you even listening to me?”  
“Huh?” Callahan asks, looking up from his newspaper.  
“Ugh!” You roll your eyes. “You get it, right Powell?” you ask, turning to him as best you could while trying to keep your leg on the chair.  
“Yeah. I broke my arm when I was a kid. Sucked pretty bad.”  
“I know! My grass is gonna look like a hayfield pretty soon,” you groan.  
“You got a neighbor that can cut it?”  
“Ah, I don’t wanna bother them, they have their own yards to worry about. Plus mine is kinda big,” you shrug.  
“Any kids that could do it?”  
“Mm, I don’t wanna ask unless they’re offering. Wanna let ‘em be kids while they can, y’know?” Powell nods his head. With a sigh, you return to your work, which you’re taking your time with since there’s not much of it. The rest of your day passes uneventfully as it has the past week, and your neighbor shows up to pick you up.  
“Michelle is here to pick you up, Y/N,” Flo says, picking up one of your crutches that fell earlier and you were too lazy to pick up.  
“Thanks,” you grunt, pushing yourself off your chair and desk to stand up. She hands you your crutches and you turn to take a peek in your boss’s office.  
“Have a good weekend, Chief,” you say, leaning back on your non-casted foot.  
“Yep, you too,” he nods, looking up from his paper. Flo winks at you and you roll your eyes with a small smile.  
“See ya Monday, Flo,” you say as you hobble to the front door.  
“See you, dear. Stay off that foot!” she calls.  
“I’ll do my best,” you smile, leaving the building. 

Finally, the weekend. Time to relax and do the exact thing you hate the most: sitting around all day. You want to mow your grass so badly, but your foot just won’t allow it (and you're pretty sure Flo would kill you if she found out you tried). So after breakfast and coffee, you turned your television on and plopped down on the couch for a day of nothing. That’s why you almost jump at your doorbell ringing around 11. Groaning at having to get up (you were actually kind of content), you pick up your crutches and make your way to the door. If you thought you were surprised by someone being at your door, you’re even more surprised to see your boss, chief of police Jim Hopper at your door. Maybe you forgot something at work, but you don’t remember leaving anything. So why is he here? Only one way to find out. You unlock and open your door, hobbling back to the doorframe to talk to him.  
“Hey Chief, what’re you doin’ here?” you ask, hoping you don’t seem too surprised to have him at your front door. And in casual clothes no less, jeans and a t-shirt. A t-shirt that seems a little tight and you hope you’re not staring for too long.  
“Just stoppin’ by to see if you need anything,” he says, looking you up and down. It’s a good thing you got kind of ready this morning to feel a little productive, otherwise you’d look like a total embarrassment.  
“Oh, thanks. I uh… I’m good. Thank you though,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too confused about why the hell he stopped by. He nods, glancing to the side.  
“You have a mower, yeah?”  
“Yeah, it’s in the shed out back. Why, you need to borrow it?”  
“Ah no,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You still need someone to mow?”  
“I mean yeah, do you know someone?”  
“Kind of. I can do it,” he says, seeming to not want to make eye contact with you, which you find odd as you’re the one usually avoiding his.  
“Only if you want to. I know it’s hot out and you have a daughter to-”  
“She’s at a friends house.”  
“Okay. Um… I can meet you around back and show you the-”  
“Don’t worry about it, I can figure it out,” he says, glancing at your cast.  
“O… Okay. Let me know when you’re done,” you say. He nods his head, then steps off your wraparound porch. Closing the door behind him, you shake your head and turn around. What just happened? You know he said to not worry about it but you still head to the door in the kitchen that leads to the other side of the wraparound and stand, watching him walk up to your shed. He opens it, and pulls your mower out, grabbing the gas can. You have to force yourself to look away from his butt in those jeans because you would probably drop dead if you were caught. After filling up the tank, he goes to start the mower and sees you outside.  
“I told you I’ve got it,” he says with a slight laugh.  
“I know, I know. Just making sure,” you smile as he starts your mower. You go back inside to make your lunch, but you keep getting distracted looking out the window. You’re not sure when you started crushing like some teenager on your boss, but probably all of your coworkers have figured it out by now (except maybe Callahan). Of course you never thought you’d fall for the grumpy, scruffy, bear-sized man, but here you are. You don’t know why you can’t just act like a normal human being and ask him out, but there’s also the tiny detail that he’s your boss and that would most definitely not be very professional of you. And if he said no? You’d have to quit your job if you weren’t fired for misconduct or something first. So you’ve just tried to be nice to him, be friends, and admire him from afar. Like you’re doing now. Actually, you should probably stop staring, he might catch you looking through the window like a total creep. Instead, you focus on making two sandwiches for lunch, one for you and one for Hopper when he’s done, a significantly harder task on crutches. You finally manage to get them made and take yours over to the coffee table in front of your couch and only spill your cup of water a little bit.  
As you’re rinsing your plate off, you hear the mower stop and there’s no way he’s done yet. It sounds like he’s near the door in your kitchen, so you quietly try to peek out. He is definitely not done, but your eyes widen at the sight of him pulling his t-shirt off and tossing it on the built-in shelf at the end of your porch. You always knew he was a big man, but his big shoulders and thick torso are even more evident. You know some of your coworkers have poked fun at his weight, but he’s truly not overweight. Sure there’s a soft layer at his stomach, but you know he’s all muscle under there. You then realize you’ve been staring way too long. Ducking back away and trying not to look again, you finish rinsing your plate and put it in your dishwasher. But you can’t stop thinking, good lord the chief of police is mowing your lawn shirtless. You try to return to your television, but you can’t stop leaning to look out your window. 

When you hear the mower turn off, you get up and go out the door in your kitchen. Just as you get there, he’s closing the shed and walking over to get his shirt.  
“All finished?” you call with a smile, hoping you’re not looking at his chest for too long.  
“Yep,” he says, picking up the shirt and wiping the sweat off his forehead.  
“You wanna come in and cool off for a few?” you ask without even thinking.  
“Sure, just let me grab another shirt from my truck,” he says, beginning to walk around your house. You go back inside to wait for him, filling a glass of water for him but leave it on the counter in order to not spill any. Soon enough he knocks, then opens your door, stepping in.  
“Water’s on the sink,” you nod from your seat at your dining room table.  
“Thanks,” he says, grabbing it. “Can’t stay too long. Gotta run into the station for a bit today.” He comes over and sits in the chair closest to you.  
“Oh, that’s okay. Thank you so much for doing that, you… you really didn’t have to.”  
“It was no big deal,” he says. You now wonder if he was even seeing if you needed anything in the first place and if he just came to mow. You didn’t even know he was in his office when you were talking about it, much less listening. The next few minutes pass in a comfortable silence as he finishes the water.  
“I should probably get going,” he sighs. You nod, standing with your crutches and make your way to your wallet on the table near the door.  
“What are you doing?” he asks with a slight laugh.  
“Paying you,” you say, pulling out a ten.  
“No, you’re not,” he smiles, shoving your hand away.  
“Wha… Yes I am,” you say, thrusting the cash back towards him.  
“Nope.” He shakes his head and pushes your hand away again  
“Please? My yard is big, it’s a lot of work. It’s the least I can do,” you say. You never thought you’d be pleading for someone to let you pay them but then again this is someone you’re secretly head over heels for.  
“No, you’re not paying me,” he says, pressing your hand into your chest to keep you from trying to give him the money. You try to not blush with his hand on you. Suddenly you remember the sandwich you made him, you can’t believe you forgot it.  
“Fine. At least take the sandwich I made you,” you say, nodding to the fridge. He lets go of your hand.  
“Now that I’ll accept,” he says. You go to the fridge and pull the plate out. He takes it and takes a big bite. You set the plate on the counter and follow him to the door.  
“Thanks again, Chief. Seriously, thank you,” you say, placing a hand on his arm without even thinking.  
“It was no problem,” he smiles. You nod and let go of his arm, realizing you left your hand on it. He walks to his truck and waves to you as he gets in. Waving back, you smile and watch until his truck is out of sight before you close the door. You still kind of can’t believe that just happened. The chief, your boss (and crush) just mowed your lawn. Shirtless. You find your mind drifting to him the rest of the day.

The following Monday, you find it extra hard to concentrate with Hopper’s office right behind you, especially because you know he’s in there. You hope no one notices you’re not your usually chatty self, talking to the chief from your chair. Most likely no one has, except maybe Flo which you don’t really mind, she already has you all figured out. You’re more worried about her asking you about it. As you take a sip of your coffee, one of your crutches fall.  
“Shit,” you huff, but before you can lean over to try and grab it, someone else does. Looking up, you see Hopper and he leans the crutch back up against your desk.  
“Th… Thanks, Chief,” you say. He gives you a nod and a small smile before walking over to the coffee pot and refilling his mug.  
“What are you blushing about?” Flo asks quietly.  
“Nothing,” you say, trying to hide your face. She just gives you a knowing look before moving over to the coffee maker to start a new pot. You turn your head when the front door opens and smile with a small wave when Powell walks in.  
“Mornin’ Flo,” he says, walking past her. “Morning Y/N. You get someone to take care of that grass this weekend?” he asks, sitting at his desk two down from yours, next to Callahan.  
“Actually I did,” you say, risking a quick glance at Hopper where he still stands by the coffee pot.  
“That’s good. Who did it?”  
“Oh, uh… one of my neighbors offered.” Telling him Hopper did it doesn’t seem like a very good idea. He gives a silent nod, beginning to go through the papers on his desk. You figure you have enough time the rest of the day to do your small amount of work, so you pick up the newspaper on the side of your desk. A few minutes later, someone walks past your desk, but you only pay attention when they set something on it. Looking up from your paper, there’s a donut on one of the papers on your desk. You look around before turning to look in the office behind you to see Hopper sitting down with a donut in his mouth. He catches you looking at him and gives you a quick, small smile and a wink that you’re not even one hundred percent sure was there. You smile to yourself, picking it up, giving another glance behind you before taking a bite.

The following Saturday, you wake up confused. You slept in after staying up late the night before, but that’s not what you find odd. No, you’ve woken up to the sound of a mower going past your window. At first you think it’s one of your neighbors, but as you rub the sleep from your eyes and wake up further, you realize that it’s never been that loud. Getting up, you grab your crutches and your dressing gown off the hook behind your door, wrapping it around yourself. Looking through your back window, you see none other than Jim Hopper mowing your grass. You smile to yourself and shake your head, going to the door in your kitchen. He doesn’t see you until he’s turned back around, mowing another stripe. He stops next to where you’re standing on your porch and turns the mower off.  
“What are you doing?” you laugh, moving a bit closer.  
“What’s it look like I’m doing, I’m mowing your yard,” he says, gesturing to your mower. You shake your head with a laugh.  
“Why?”  
“Because it needed cut again,” he shrugs, acting as if it were totally normal for him to just come over and mow like he lived here.  
“I… You just… Sorry, this was kind of unexpected,” you sigh, trying to figure out how to feel about the matter.  
“Well I was hoping to finish before you woke up.”  
“How did you know I was asleep still?” you ask, suddenly mildly concerned.  
“You didn’t answer your door,” he says plainly and you nod.  
“Well I… I’m gonna go get dressed and eat breakfast so uh… let me know when you’re done. I’ll uh… make you another sandwich if you want,” you say, pulling the knot on the belt of your dressing gown a little tighter. He nods, starting your mower back up as you go back inside. What. Is. Happening. Having him mow your yard once was fine, normal. Is this going to be a normal occurrence?

Apparently it was going to be a normal occurrence. For the past five weeks, Hopper has mowed your grass every Saturday. You’re beginning to worry what the neighbors are thinking. He’s not very subtle, he drives his big truck with lights on top and “CHIEF” and “HAWKINS POLICE DEPT.” plastered across both sides for everyone to see. Everyone in town knows, even without seeing the letters on the sides, that the truck belongs to Hopper. You swear that when you went to the grocery store with Michelle the other day, you heard someone whisper “Yeah, heard Chief’s been mowin’ her lawn”. But it also probably doesn’t help that he’s been over besides just the weekends. About a week ago, you were complaining to Powell about how the sink in your bathroom wasn’t working and now you’ve been having to brush your teeth in your spare bathroom, which with a still-mending ankle is a bit of a hassle. That night, Hopper showed up at your door with a toolbox.  
“What about your daughter?” you’d asked as he’d pushed past you, asking where the problem faucet was. He’d told you she was at her friend’s. He fixed your sink, stayed for dinner, and the way he’d looked at you across your dining table made your heart flutter.  
He’d fixed your mower when it quit working, replaced the old lock on your front door with a better, newer one, put a new lightbulb in your porch light, and fixed your toilet when the chain broke. Not only was he over more often, but he started staying longer too. He would hang out with you, pull weeds from your flower bed while you sat on your porch and talked to him, and if it was late enough, he’d stay for dinner, sometimes helping you cook. For some… well most people, this wouldn’t seem like very unusual behavior. For people that were close, dating even, it would seem normal. But there’s two things. This is Jim Hopper you’re talking about, and you are most definitely not dating (as much as you wish you were).  
You’re pulled from your thoughts by the phone on your desk giving a shrill ring and you pick it up.  
“Hawkins Police Department, how may I help you, this is Officer L/N.”  
“Hey Y/N, it’s Michelle.”  
“Hey Michelle, what’s up?” you ask, leaning back in your chair again.  
“Hey, I’m so sorry, I can’t make it to pick you up today, I’ve gotta pick up Jeremy from his friend’s house,” she says.  
“No, it’s alright. I can figure something else out. Thanks for letting me know,” you say, trying to not sound disappointed that your ride bailed on you. You say your goodbyes then drop the receiver back on the phone. You started wearing a brace instead of a cast this week, but you’re still on crutches most of the time and probably shouldn’t drive much just yet.  
“Dammit,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair again.  
“What’s up?” Powell asks.  
“Michelle can’t take me home today, she’s gotta pick up her kid. Now I gotta figure out how I’m gonna get outta here at five because as much as I love you guys, I’m tired of sitting around here all day.”  
“Me too,” Powell laughs. “Where do you live?”  
“On Cedar, off Larabee,” you say. “Why, you wanna drive me?”  
“No, just seein’ if I could think of someone that could.” You laugh and roll your eyes.  
“I’m headin’ that way soon, I’ll take ‘ya,” comes Hopper’s voice from behind you in his office.  
“You sure? I can find someone else if you’re busy,” you say, turning in your seat to face him.  
“Nah, it’s fine. We’ll go in fifteen,” he says, returning to whatever he’s working on.  
“Okay,” you say, turning back around. Hopper’s been here nearly all day and you have a feeling that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon until you said something. You don’t blame him though, working at a police station in a small town is usually pretty boring (as long as there’s no major, crazy conspiracy with the local lab). But you’re also pretty sure if anyone else would have said something, he wouldn’t have offered. You finish up your work for the day, not that there was much anyway, and gather your things to be ready when Hopper says it’s time to go. Soon enough, he asks you if you’re ready to go.  
“Yep,” you say, shoving your wallet in your pocket and you go to grab your crutches, but he hands them to you. “Thanks,” you mumble, taking them. As you walk past her desk, Flo hands Hopper his keys, then quietly stops you, giving you a knowing look. You just smile and roll your eyes. You follow Hop out to his truck and despite the years you’ve been here, you can only remember being in it maybe once or twice. You open the door and put your crutches in first. As you try to get in, he grabs your upper arm, helping you up. You buckle your seatbelt and watch as he walks around the front and pulls himself into the driver’s seat.  
“Alright,” he huffs, putting on his aviator sunglasses, then shoves the key in the ignition and turns it on. Air blasts in your face, hot at first but then it cools off. He turns it down a bit before buckling his seatbelt and then pulling out of the parking lot.  
“Guess I don’t have you tell you my address,” you say with a small laugh.  
“Guess not,” he shrugs with a slight smile. He reaches up and presses play on his cassette player. A song fades out and the synth of The Logical Song begins. You begin humming along and Hopper gives a light chuckle.  
“You like Supertramp?” he asks, glancing at you.  
“Of course,” you reply, then continue humming along. You get brave enough to sing a few words, and that’s when Hopper starts singing along. You can’t help but start laughing.  
“Am I that bad?” he asks.  
“No, no,” you say through laughs. “Just never thought I’d hear you sing, Chief.”  
“As long as you don’t tell anyone, especially Cal and Powell, I’d never hear the end of it.”  
“Oh, I know. Your secret’s safe with me,” you say before continuing to sing along. You were never happy about living kind of far from the station, but for this, you are. Otherwise you would have never heard Hop not only try to hit the “who I am” high notes, but you also wouldn’t have been able to sing Goodbye Stranger with him too. Half that song is definitely not meant for Hopper to try and sing, but he does it anyway and you almost can’t join him because you’re laughing so much. Sure you’ve had fun with him before at holiday parties, out in the field, in the office, and a lot more recently when he’s been at your house, but this feels different. Of course you loved him before, but this almost feels like you’re falling all over again. He’s been open with you before, but not quite like this, acting like a total dork and drumming on the wheel.  
You wish this ride could last forever, but of course it has to end at some point. He pulls into your driveway and turns the volume down before shutting the car off. He laughs and looks at you with a big smile.  
“What?” you giggle, unbuckling your seatbelt.  
“Nothin’. Just been awhile since I’ve done that with someone,” he says.  
“Well I’d be happy to be your duet partner any time, Chief,” you say, nudging him. He gives a small chuckle, then sighs.  
“Guess we better get you in,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt as he opens the door and walks around the front of the truck. You take this time to grab the twenty five dollars you had taken out of your wallet earlier and place it discreetly in the cup holder on the center console. He would never let you actually pay him, but it’s the least you can do after everything he’s done recently. He opens your door and you hand him your crutches. He leans them against the open door and holds a hand out to help you down. You take it and and realize just how big his hands are, they seem like almost twice the size of yours. As you slide off the seat to get out, he grabs your upper arm with his other hand. When you land on the ground, you’re a lot closer to him than you anticipated, face very close to his chest. You look up and him and he’s already looking at you. He clears his throat, then lets go of your arm, stepping away from you and handing you your crutches. He closes the door and follows behind as you make your way up to the door. You can feel him standing close behind you as you get your keys from your pocket and open the front door.  
“Hey, I was gonna make spaghetti for dinner if you uh… if you wanna stay. I know you’re technically supposed to be at work but…” you trail off. You hadn’t planned on inviting him to stay, it just kind of came out. He seems to think about it for a moment before nodding. You step aside to let him in, closing and locking the door behind him. You pull your shoe off, then make your way down the hall and to the kitchen. He shows up in the doorway a few moments later having taken his shoes off.  
“Need any help?” he asks.  
“Uh, sure. Pots are over there if you wanna grab the big-ish one and put some water in it,” you say, pointing to the rack above the stove behind you. The clanging behind you is a lot louder than it should be and you jump at the crash.  
“What are you doing?” you laugh, turning around. Hopper looks like he was a kid and you just caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. One of your pans had fallen when he was trying to get the pot.  
“It fell,” he says, glancing at you. You just laugh and watch him hang it back up before filling the pot you’d asked him to get. After turning the stove on while waiting for the water to boil, you turn on the radio on the windowsill above the sink.  
“Oh yes, I love Long Train Runnin’,” you say, bopping your head to the song. You start dancing a bit, then turn to Hopper and start laughing when you see him watching you.  
“You never seen a bad dancer?” you ask, still moving.  
“Never seen someone dance on crutches,” he says with a smile slowly making its way across his face. By the time the next song starts, the water has started boiling. You grab the box of spaghetti and tear it open, breaking them in half then putting them in the water. Hold the Line had started and when you turn around, you catch Hopper moving his hips a bit.  
“You dance, Chief?” you ask with a smile. He seems embarrassed. Well, as embarrassed as Jim Hopper can look.  
“Not really, no.”  
“Aw come on. What’s one of your favorite songs?” you ask, abandoning the stove temporarily. “I’ve got plenty of cassettes and records.”  
“You got Jim Croce?” You nod with a smile and go to your living room.  
“Keep an eye on the spaghetti,” you call, hoping he heard you. Sorting through the box of cassettes, you find the one you’re looking for and smile to yourself, because you know exactly why he asked and which song he likes. It’s the perfect song for him, you’ve associated it with him for years, and now you have confirmation that he likes it too. Back in the kitchen, you pop open the cassette player on the radio and put it in, pressing play. It takes a moment, but then the bass and guitar of You Don’t Mess Around with Jim starts. You move your hips to the beat, turning the volume up before turning to Hopper. He’s started snapping and moving his hips too before going into a small version of the twist.  
“Ha ha! There you go!” you smile, dancing over to him the best you can while still on crutches most of the time. You begin singing, directing it at him.  
“42nd street got big Jim Walker, he's a pool shootin' son of a gun. Yeah, he big and dumb as a man can come, but he stronger than a country hoss,” you sing, pointing at him.  
“Hey,” he laughs. You just smile and continue. Soon enough, he joins in, singing and dancing with you. Neither of you are good, but who cares, you’re having fun. By the time the song ends, you’re both a little out of breath, but it was worth it. You laugh and give him what feels like the biggest smile you’ve smiled in a while before turning the volume back down and checking the spaghetti.  
“Never knew you could do that!” you say, looking at him over your shoulder.  
“Cause I’d get hell if anyone else at the station saw,” he says, stepping next to you.  
“Like if they heard you singing to Supertramp?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.  
“Yeah, and you said you’d keep that secret,” he says, leaning closer to you.  
“And I will,” you say, looking at him. He’s closer than you thought he’d be and you have to resist the urge to back up. Harder to resist though, is your wish to step closer. Instead, you turn back to the pot, stirring it. It seems to be done, so you use the spoon to get a noodle out. Without warning, you fling it upwards.  
“What the hell are you doing?” Hopper laughs, looking at the ceiling where the noodle is stuck.  
“Making sure they’re done,” you smile, grabbing another and flinging it up too. He just shakes his head with a chuckle. “You ever make spaghetti for El? I bet she’d get a kick outta that.”  
“I don’t know if I have. We’ll have to make it and I’ll have to show her,” he says, looking to you, his eyes holding a look that you can’t quite place, but they almost look… loving? Adoring? No, he wouldn’t. Not directed towards you at least. He helps you finish everything up, even carrying your plate and drink to your table for you. Instead of sitting across from you, this time he sits at the corner with you. Dinner goes by nicely, talking idly, and when you’re done, he helps you clean up. That’s when you decide maybe it’s time you find out why he’s been doing all this for you. Most other people, you wouldn’t question or just attribute it to your injury, but with him it’s different.  
“Hey Hop, can I ask you something?” you ask, placing a rinsed plate in the dishwasher.  
“Yeah, shoot.” You take a quiet, deep breath.  
“Why have you been helping me so much?”  
“What do you mean?” he asks, looking to you.  
“Like… all the stuff I need done. Help with. You’ve been there. Why did you decide to be my handyman?” He stops rinsing the pot to look at you.  
“Because I knew you needed the help,” he shrugs, returning to cleaning the last dish then handing it to you. “You broke your ankle.”  
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have done it for anyone else. If Cal or Powell asked, you would’ve just laughed and told them to figure it out. So why?” This gets him thinking, he freezes, looking into the sink. After a few moments of silence, he sighs, placing both hands on the edge of the sink and leaning over it.  
“Because… because you got hurt. And you’ve always been so nice to me, helpful, that I figured I needed to help you,” he says, but he doesn’t seem like he’s done. You stay silent to encourage him to continue.  
“And because… god, this is going to sound stupid,” he sighs, dragging a hand across his face. You just stare at him, but you have butterflies in your stomach. “I… I like you, Y/N. A lot. Have for a long time… real long. And I know you’re the only woman at the office besides Flo,”  
“Hop,” you try to interrupt, but he continues.  
“And you probably think I’m crazy,”  
“Hopper.” You step closer to him, using the counter as your crutch.  
“And it’s weird because I’m your boss, and you don’t-”  
“Jim,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder. This gets him to stop talking and look at you, you could count the amount of times you’ve called him by his first name on one hand.  
“I’ve liked you a lot for a long time too,” you smile gently, your usual adolescent-seeming perception of the term lost in the moment. He stands up from leaning to face you, your hand sliding to his upper arm.  
“Really?” He seems dumbfounded by the idea that you would ever say that.  
“Really. Like… a lot, a lot,” you laugh, emphasizing your confession.  
“You? Like me?”  
“Yes,” you giggle.  
“Sorry, I’m just having a hard time kinda… wrapping my head around it,” he says, shaking his head with a nervous laugh. You move your hand from his bicep to his cheek.  
“Then don’t,” you say quietly with a smile. You stand on your tiptoe, other hand still supporting you on the counter, hoping he gets the hint. Tilting his head down, his lips meet yours, mustache tickling your lip. It’s better than you could have ever imagined it. His lips are slightly chapped, but so are yours. He places his hands on your hips, slowly moving one to your back. You move your arm around his neck in both an attempt to deepen the kiss and stabilize yourself. He pulls away sooner than you would have liked, but rests his forehead against yours.  
“Wanted to do that for so long,” he mumbles and you wonder if you were meant to hear it or not. You reply anyways.  
“Me too.” He kisses you again, then picks you up and you squeal as he seemingly effortlessly tosses you over his shoulder with a laugh and starts walking.  
“What are you doing?” you shout, lifting yourself up with your elbows on his back. You see he’s taking you to your room.  
“If I’m your handyman, then I’ve gotta show you what these hands can really do.”


End file.
